Hollow
by Cerridwen7777
Summary: In which Sam and Dean investigate a series of gruesome deaths, and find themselves between a rock and a hard place. Rated for language, scary stuff, and later gore.
1. Chapter 1

**I think that what I have in mind will speak to a fear that most people have, and frankly I'm creeping myself out just writing about it. So stick with me. The boys aren't mine, tho' I do enjoy tormenting them. Please review, then head to my blog where I answer all reviews.**

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Night was waning its way into morning, the horizon fringed with the golden glow of false dawn. The diner was nearly deserted, with the fry cook scrubbing at the grill and the waitress wiping the same patch of counter over and over, as though in a daze. An old-timer nursed a cup of tea as he browsed a newspaper with hand-trembling slowness. Coffee perked with a blubbing sound, the scent filling the dingy room with a warm wake-up smell. A radio buzzed and hissed with static, the morning news fading in and out.

Dean grinned a thank-you as the waitress dropped a plate in front of him and refreshed his coffee cup. Her weary face softened with a small smile and she gave in to a little blush. Dean let out a little mumble of pleasure as he tucked into his steak, cramming a mammoth sized cut of the meat into his mouth, and he twirled his fork through a crispy golden pile of hash browns. Sam ignored him, clicking away on his laptop, his fingers flying. Dean snaked his arm across the table and snatched a piece of fatty bacon from Sam's plate, but his action went unnoticed, and Dean made a whiny little noise.

"Are you gonna ignore me all night, or what?"

Sam glanced over the top of the computer screen, one eyebrow arched with annoyance. "What?"

Dean put down his fork with a loud clank. "I get it. I'm sorry. But if…"

"Whatever." Sam's gaze dropped back to his screen and he began typing again, albeit with more force than necessary, sending his water glass jittering across the table.

"What do you want me to say? How was I supposed to know you were waiting up like a mother hen?" Dean stabbed his arm back toward Sam's plate and he grabbed a sausage link. "You should know better than to worry about me, particularly when I'm chasin' a piece of tail."

Sam took a deep breath through his nose. "Dude, you disappear from the room without a word, them spend the whole night God knows where…" He stopped, biting his tongue.

He knew perfectly well that Dean hadn't been chasing tail or anything else that evening. Sam had followed him, staying in the shadows, keeping a silent watch on his brother. Dean had spent most of the night sitting alone in a tiny dive bar, downing shot after shot of rotgut whiskey and staring into space with a distracted, pensive expression. He hadn't even looked twice at the barfly in a denim mini skirt and halter-top, even when she made a point of brushing his arm with her breasts as she reached across the bar for a drink. When he returned to the motel room at 3:30 in the morning he stank of cheap liquor and smoke.

Sam growled with frustration, trying to push down the lump of apprehension in his stomach. "Just forget it. I'm this close to fratricidal."

"Heh?"

Sam laid his palms on the table and leaned his face closer to Dean's. "I'm going to kill you if you don't shut up."

Dean twisted his mouth to one side and stabbed a piece of steak. He plopped it into his mouth, catching the tines of the fork in his teeth with a metallic scrape, and chewed quietly for a moment. Then in a low voice, "I'm sorry. Really. It won't happen again." He ducked his chin, trying to catch Sam's eye. "Come on. Come onnn."

Sam tried valiantly, but couldn't stop the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Shut up and eat." Dean leaned back in the booth, smirking triumphantly and chewing with his mouth open. Sam glanced back at his computer screen, a bit annoyed at himself for giving in so easily, but then let it go with a shrug. No point hanging on to it.

"So what are you looking at there, Einstein?" Dean asked around his mouthful.

Sam turned the screen toward Dean. "Wisconsin."

"Ugh, snow and cheeseheads. How come we always end up in Wisconsin?"

Sam pursed his mouth and gave Dean a look. Dean shrugged and motioned for him to continue. "Reports of a haunting in a nature reserve near Blue River. Strange lights in the trees after dark, voices, EMPs playing havoc with car batteries. The regular spiel."

"So what?"

"Not a problem, until recently. But within the past six months, there's been three deaths. Homeless men, starved to death."

Dean huffed a breath out through his nose. "Again, so what? Not to be harsh, but homeless men have a tendency to not eat so much, if you get me." The waitress stopped at the table again, tipping a hot stream of coffee into their cups. Sam smiled his thanks, and she padded away on her worn-out sneakers.

"They didn't just starve. They were all seen in the days prior, looking healthy. Not undernourished or anything. But when the bodies were found one to two days later, they had basically wasted to nothing. All that was left was dried skin and bones. Healthy men reduced to mummies overnight." Sam took a swig of coffee, then grimaced at the sludgy thickness.

Dean pushed out his lower lip and nodded once. "Vengeful spirit? Somebody that a hobo offed, maybe?"

"Could be. But sounds like it's worth a look."

"Wisconsin, man." Dean made a chuffing noise. "I swear Wisconsin is a hellmouth. How else do you explain the Packers?" He dumped a creamer into his coffee and stirred it with his pinky finger.

Sam rolled his eyes and doused his pancakes with syrup. "You up for the drive, Mister Saturday Night? Or I suppose I'll be the one doing the long haul while you sleep in the back."

"I did have a long night, you know." Dean flicked his wrist at the waitress, who sauntered over and, winking at Dean, dropped the check on the table in front of Sam. Sam stared at his brother for a long moment, then shook his head and pulled out his wallet. He didn't see the gleeful little smirk on Dean's face as he dropped a twenty on the table.

It was going to be a long drive.


	2. Chapter 2

**I promised you'd have this by Saturday, and there's an hour-and-a-half left in Saturday. Ha! Please review...**

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It was nearing midnight when Sam pulled the Impala to a stop on a pot-holed gravel road on the edge of the Blue River Nature Reserve. The brothers had driven straight through the day, taking turns catching naps in the passenger seat, but now both were awake and grim as they stepped out of the car. There was a cold wind blowing, stirring the leaves and setting the tree limbs to creaking. Sam shrugged into a jacket and zipped it to his chin. "I'm starting to think you're right about Wisconsin."

Dean slipped a rock-salt cartridge into the shotgun and chambered it, and swung the gun over his shoulder. "Hope you wore your long-johns, kid. This is shrinkage weather. And God knows you can't afford…" His comment was cut off by a withering look from Sam, and Dean swallowed a smile, stuffing a handful of cartridges into the pocket of his coat.

Together they set out along the tree line, EMF readers in hand. The small LED lights were dark; there was no activity on the needles. Sam scanned the trees, eyes swiveling to and fro like radar. Dean shut off his EMF and stuffed it in his back pocket, his posture dropping into a more relaxed pose. From his coat pocket he produced what appeared to be a Walkman with ear-bud headphones. He stuck one of the buds into his ear and pressed a few buttons.

"What the hell is that?" whispered Sam, glancing at the gadget.

"EVP. I rigged it with recording and a two-second-delay playback. Don't have to wait to hear any EVs that way." Sam looked at Dean with a raised eyebrow. His brother never ceased to amaze him. But Dean cut off the oncoming question with an upraised hand. "Got something." He handed the other ear-bud to Sam.

For a few seconds all Sam could hear was the quiet electronic hiss of the recorder. But then he heard what Dean had, and the hair on the back of his neck stood to attention. A small, plaintive voice, almost imperceptible. _I want to go home. _Sam's eyes flew to meet Dean's. "It's a kid."

"A little girl, sounds like." Dean's face was grim. "Damn, I hate when it's a kid." He ripped the headphone from his ear, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "How much you bet that some drifter killed a kid and hid the body. Now the kid is trying to get back to its parents."

"And taking some revenge while she's at it." Sam shook his head slightly.

"Great." Dean let his eyes roam the woods. "How the hell are we going to find her? Why can there never be a neon sign saying 'Hidden Corpse Here'?" He turned to look at Sam, and immediately tensed. "What?"

"There's your sign." Sam inclined his chin toward the trees. Dean followed his gaze and there she was. A tiny girl, no more than six years old, was standing just within the trees. Staring at them. Dean immediately shouldered the shotgun, sighting down the barrel, but Sam stopped him with a quiet intake of breath. "Wait."

The girl, her dark hair plastered across her cheeks in wet strands, turned away from them and began to walk farther into the trees. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

"She's trying to lead us," Sam breathed.

"Um, I'm not sure that's such a great idea, Sammy. She's been sucking the juice out of bums, remember?" Resignation was clear in Dean's tone. "I don't like shooting kid-ghosts any more than you do, but it's gotta be done."

"How else are we going to find and burn her bones, Dean?" Sam placed his fingertips on the barrel of the shotgun and pushed it down. "I don't think she's looking to hurt us, man."

Dean huffed. "Fine." He slung the shotgun back over his shoulder. "But if she comes at us with a crazy straw, it's all you."

As the boys took a few tentative steps toward the girl, she turned away from them and walked slowly into the trees, looking over her shoulder every few seconds, her eye sockets dark and empty. Dean cast a glance back to the Impala, his distrust written plainly on his face.

She was moving faster now, dodging tree roots and bracken, her steps urgent. As Sam looked closer, he could see the angry red of a ligature mark on the pale, delicate skin of her throat. Her hair was sopping wet and full of twigs and dirt. Sam felt his heart clench, angry that a child so young would be murdered and tossed aside, her family left to wonder forever what had happened to her.

Then, suddenly, she was gone. Sam heard Dean curse and kick at a rock. "Now what?"

"Her body must be somewhere in the area here." Sam lowered his head and scanned the ground, searching for any mound of earth, any sign of a shallow grave. Dean followed suit, dropping to one knee and running his hand through the ground cover.

"Shit."

Sam's head came up. "What is it?"

"You've gotta be kidding me." The tone of Dean's voice frightened Sam. He dashed to Dean's side. "A fucking cave, man." He brushed aside a tangled mass of vegetation to reveal a small hole in the rocks, only just wide enough for a grown man to fit through.

The hair on the back of Sam's neck prickled. "You don't think she's in there."

"If I was trying to stow a body? That's where I'd do it." Dean shook his head again. "Damn."

"Um." Sam felt his throat tighten and his stomach do a back flip. "So we're going in there?"

"Not much choice, brother-of-mine." Dean set his jaw. "I love my job." Sam duly noted the sarcasm.

"I don't like this," he muttered. "This isn't a good idea."

"You have a better plan, Sam? Maybe let her keep snacking on hobos until she gets tired of them and moves on to soccer moms and other kids?" Dean shook his head, pulling his heavy Mag-lite out of his jeans pocket. "Uh-uh. We have to do it."

And with that, Dean dropped to his stomach and shimmied feet-first into the darkness, leaving Sam behind, staring and trying to ignore the foreboding in his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait on the update. I hope to get some work done this weekend, but keep getting distracted by other fandoms. Reviews, please!**

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It took every bit of willpower for Sam to make himself kneel and squeeze through the narrow cave opening, inching and squirming his way downward. He experienced a moment of panic as the stone pressed his chest and back, and his breath began to come in little gasps. Just when he thought he was going to have to scream for help, he emerged, head over heels, into a dark cavern, and the beam of Dean's flashlight played over his face.

"You okay?" Dean offered a hand up and Sam stood quickly, promptly cracking his skull on the stone ceiling.

"Shit!" he hissed, feeling a warm trickle behind his ear. He touched his scalp and his fingers came back red. He heaved in a lungful of air, forcing himself to relax the muscles that were straining in his neck and shoulders. "M'Okay." He switched on his own flashlight, and had to take another steadying breath as the light grew in the dim cavern.

The cave floor was soft dirt, sediment and soil that had washed through the cavern with a long-forgotten stream. The stone walls were close, and the ceiling was so low that Sam had to stoop slightly to avoid banging his head again. There was barely enough room for the two of them. A rough tunnel led away and downward, further into the earth. "I don't like this, Dean." Sam hated the quiver in his voice, and passed his palm over his mouth to hide it.

Dean opened his mouth to make smart remark, but when he turned and saw the look on Sam's face, he stopped. "Head topside, Sammy. I got this."

"No." Sam shook his head slightly, taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds. "You can't go alone, it's not safe."

"Sam." A warning in the tone.

"Dean." A stronger warning.

Dean searched Sam's face with his eyes, concern twisting a little furrow between his eyebrows. "Okay. But the second you start feeling funny, we're out of here." He ducked his head, seeking confirmation. When Sam nodded, Dean turned and strode forward, shoulders hunched, into the dark.

Sam dropped his chin, already feeling a crick growing in his neck in protest to the low ceiling. "Lead on, Fearless," he muttered, following on.

As the tunnel went on, Sam had to duck lower and lower to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling, dropping him into a sort of ungainly, modified duck-walk. The darkness was thick around him, the yellow glow of his flashlight barely penetrating the void of it. Sam couldn't see Dean in front of him, could only hear his footsteps and follow the bobbing of his light. A few times he heard what he swore was the skittering of little feet, dashing away at the intrusion of humans into the dark lair, and his skin crawled despite him.

The darkness seemed to compress Sam's chest, a palpable pressure on his lungs. It invaded him with every breath, penetrating deeper into his chest, filling his eyes and his throat and his brain. Dean's light carried on, pulling farther and farther ahead as Sam's steps faltered, until it disappeared altogether. Only his pride and his terror of being alone in that inky blackness pressed Sam on.

Finally he caught up to his brother. Dean was kneeling on the cool soil floor, one hand on the ground, the other on his jaw. Sam dropped to his own knees and crawled to Dean's side, finally defeated by the ever-dropping height of the rock-face above.

"You're not gonna like this." Dean's voice was grim. He dipped his flashlight to highlight his words. The passage had dead-ended into a wall, with only a small oval passageway continuing on. Barely big enough for a grown man to fit through. Barely.

Sam felt his breath catch in his chest, but he hid it with a shrug and a cough. "Lovely."

"Look, just stay here while I check it out. I'll torch her and then come back for you."

"Dean, I'm no expert, but I know enough about spelunking to know that you're not supposed to go by yourself. We're not separating."

Dean eyed Sam suspiciously and opened his mouth, but then gave up with a shake of his head. He turned from Sam and, without a word, shimmied into the crevasse. Sam watched the soles of Dean's boots disappear into the darkness, a knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach.

Finally, with a breath that dredged resolve from his gut, Sam crawled forward and slipped into the opening. There was barely room for his shoulders, with the walls pressing from either side. He could just pull himself forward with his elbows, his toes scrabbling to push from behind. The rock pressed him in an embrace, and the light from his Mag-lite jiggled crazily across the walls, strobing in his eyes. Stones dug into his knees and elbows, like little knuckles grinding against the bones. He clonked his head on the rock again, and a strangled whimper caught in his throat.

He could hear Dean ahead, scraping and crawling, but could not see him. All he could see was rock. He dragged himself forward again in a modified army crawl, inching along on his belly, centimeter by centimeter. The dark in front of him was like ink. There was no telling where, or if, this tunnel would end, no goal to fight toward. No going back. There was only darkness and stone.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he had a sudden, terrible fear that something was creeping up behind him, reaching for his ankle with bony hands. He tried to crawl faster, writhing and bucking, each breath catching in his throat, but he could only move forward by agonizing inches.

Finally, panic would allow him to go no further. The rock held him firm, pressing arms, stomach, chest, back so tightly that he felt he could barely breathe. Terror rose and he felt, rather than heard, a shout escape him. "Dean!" He gasped, trying vainly to regain a sense of calm, but the pulse pounding in his throat made it impossible. "Dean!"

"Sam!" Dean's voice was dim, far-off. "Sammy!"

"Dean, help!" Fear was in control now, fully and completely. "Help!" It was pure and simple terror. He was entombed.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait on the update. Things have been...off...lately. As always, I don't own the boys. I don't even own the cave. Please review.

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Sam's scream stopped Dean cold. He had just crawled free of the tunnel into a small, dank cavern, his boots splashing into a few inches of water. "Sam!" He turned back toward the passage, stomach clenching. "Sam!"

"I can't move!" The panic in his brother's faint voice made the hair on Dean's neck prickle. "I'm stuck!" He sounded for all the world like the little boy Dean used to carry around piggybacked.

"Calm down, Sammy," ordered Dean, taking a deep breath of his own. "Just take a second and calm down. I made it through, and you're skinnier than me…you can make it." Dean knelt, ignoring the water that wicked through his jeans, and poked his head back into the tunnel, shining his light down into the blackness. "Can you see my light?"

He heard Sam make a little noise, a strangled whimper. "Yeah, I see it."

"Just crawl toward it man. I promise, you can make it." Dean let out a little sigh of relief when he heard Sam start to scrabble in the dirt, grunting with exertion. "Come on, man, crawl to my voice." He sat back on his heels, his heart drumming. His brother was scared, and he couldn't get to him, couldn't help him. It was a feeling he hated more than anything. And then it happened.

He felt it before he heard it. A cracking, crashing rumble that shook his bones and stopped his breath. He screamed for his brother but couldn't hear his own voice over the noise. A choking wave of dust rolled out of the passage and he gagged against it, retching against the pain and suffocation. The grit coated his eyes, scratching and burning, sending involuntary tears streaming down his cheeks.

The rumble subsided, diminishing to the occasional clatter of rock on rock, and then there was silence. "Sam!" Dean's voice was rough, gravelly, and he coughed out a glut of mud. "Talk to me, Sammy!"

A small, muffled cough answered him. "Dean…" Sam's voice was faint, soft.

"Are you okay?" Dean's heart began to hammer again. His brother sounded strange, words thick.

"Stuck…" The word was weak.

Dean was on his feet without another thought, scrambling back into the tunnel, army crawling as fast as he could back toward his brother. "I'm comin', Sammy," he grunted, ignoring the rocks that stabbed at his elbows and knees. "Hang on." The farther he crawled, the thicker the dust in the air became. He squinted against it, ignoring the sandy scraping every time he blinked, but then gave up and shut his eyes altogether, scrabbling his way along by feel.

Then, as Dean despaired of ever finding his brother, his hand brushed warm skin. "Sam!" he coughed, clutching at the hand he had found, grasping the fingers. "Talk to me, Sam…"

Sam made a muffled gurgle, his fingers closing around Dean's. "M'Okay," he mumbled. Dean managed to wrestle his flashlight to the front and shone the light on Sam's face. A large gash had been opened on the bridge of Sam's nose and was pouring blood, painting his lips and teeth.

"Look at me," ordered Dean, shining his light directly into Sam's eyes. They were bleary and confused with what was clearly a concussion, and Dean's heart clutched. "Can you crawl to me?" Sam replied by wriggling slightly, shifting his hips from side to side.

"Foot's stuck," he whimpered, lifting his free hand to swipe blood from his face. "Think a rock is on it."

Dean sought his brother's eyes. "Listen to me, Sammy. You've got to crawl with me. You're not going to be able to crawl backward the way you came, but I think I can. We'll go back to the room where this tunnel comes out and see if we can find another way back."

"Foot's stuck," Sam repeated obstinately.

"Well, you'd better damn-well unstick it and get your ass moving, understand me?" Dean's bellow came out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he cringed. _Channeling Dad, that's a great way to get Sam to cooperate_, he berated himself. But even as he thought it, Sam gave a little groan and started rocking his hips again, pulling himself forward on his elbows. "That's it, Sam, come on. You can do it, it's not far."

Dean began shimmying backward, inch by painful inch. The press of the rock walls was a torment, a claustrophobic, suffocating embrace. Only the fact that he knew freedom was just beyond, behind his boots, kept him from panic. He kept his eyes on Sam's face, watching as his brother grimaced and groaned his way forward, occasionally spitting blood.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Dean felt his feet fall free of the confines of the passage. He slid backward, out into the blessed open space of the small cavern. He then reached in and grasped Sam by the hands, pulling him forward and delivering him from the tunnel like a baby. Sam collapsed to his side, puffing with exertion, his hands still clasping Dean's. "Good job, Sammy," Dean gasped, his own efforts catching up to him. "Good job."

They sat together on the stone floor for a few moments, steeping in the cold water, allowing their breaths and hearts to slow. Finally Sam let go of Dean's fingers and pushed himself to a sitting position. Dean grabbed a wad of tissue from his pocket and handed it to him, and he pressed it against the bridge of his nose.

"Any chance of going back the way we came?" Dean's tone didn't hold much hope.

"I don't think so." Sam's voice was muffled by his hand, and he pulled the now crimson-soaked tissues away from his face. "It felt like an awful lot of stuff fell back there." He dropped the tissues into the water beside him. "This is bad."

"Yeah." Dean turned away from Sam, hands clenching into fists. _Idiot, _he railed at himself. _He told you not to come in here. Now look. _"We're going to have to find another way out."

Sam nodded wordlessly, casting his flashlight around, examining the room. Then he gave a weak chuckle. "Well, there's one bright side." Dean turned with questioning eyes, and Sam directed his light into a corner. Propped against a rock wall, curled into a twisted lump, there was a tiny, mummified body.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the update delay. I promise to be better behaved. Or I'll try, at any rate. Thanks to those who have reviewed so far...ya'll are so kind. Keep it up!**

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It almost looked like a mound of dirt, jammed up into a rock crevasse. One could overlook it so easily. Only the presence of a dirty sneaker had given it away.

Dean shuffled forward, shining his light on the corpse and ducking his head for a better look. Tentatively he reached out and turned the body over, wincing at the dust that came away on his fingers. The corpse was small, child-sized, curled into the fetal position with its face covered by its arms. A few wisps of dirty blond hair clung to the scalp. In its hands it clutched a moldy scrap of fabric, which at closer inspection turned out to be a small handmade doll. Dean let out a sigh, heavy with sadness. "Kids, man."

"So you were right," murmured Sam. "Some homeless guy killed the girl and stashed her body here. She's been trying to get someone's attention, to get someone to find her and take her home." He blinked a few times. His head was swimming, his vision leaving trailers every time he moved his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to find a bed and crawl under the covers, and sleep for the rest of his life.

"Well, here's hoping that one of the guys she sucked dry is the bastard that did this. At least that way there's some justice." Dean dug into his pocket and came out with his lighter.

"Wait!" Sam held out a hand. "Not a good idea to light that…don't know how much oxygen is in here, or whether there's any buildup of gasses." He winced as he bit his tongue, which suddenly felt thick and heavy in his mouth.

"The only gas buildup in here is you," retorted Dean, but he stashed the lighter back in his pocket.

"Besides, guano can be flammable." Sam pushed himself to his feet, blinking and trying to ignore the dizziness that made his vision spin. Nausea pressed at the pit of his stomach but he swallowed it down.

"Uh." Dean lifted an eyebrow. "'Scuse me?"

"Been documented that lightning strikes can ignite deposits of bat guano and cause explosions in caves." Sam blinked again, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his brain.

"Exploding bat shit." Dean shook his head sadly. "I don't even want to know why you know that, dude." Then his face changed, nose wrinkling. "So we're going to have to carry her out of here." Sam nodded, eyes closed, fingers on his temple. "Dammit." Dean knelt and, suppressing a gag, gently scooped the body of the little girl into his arms. "Dibs on the shower at the motel. And you're gonna let me borrow your loofah." But his words were softened by the careful way that he cradled the girl against his chest.

"No use going back the way we came," mumbled Sam. "Pretty sure the roof caved in…" He felt a hot surge roll in his stomach and he swallowed another gag, but then with a sudden rush he threw up, falling forward onto his hands and knees and retching.

"Sammy!" Dean dashed forward. "You okay?"

Sam could feel Dean at his side, hand warm against the small of his back. "Think…concussion. M'okay." Sam drew the back of his hand over his mouth and frowned at the bitter acid taste. Dean furrowed his brow and squeezed the nape of Sam's neck. "M'okay," Sam repeated. "Let's…just go." He spit and then glanced up at his brother, wincing at the look of concern. "Com'on."

Dean hooked a hand under Sam's elbow and lifted him to his feet. He watched closely as Sam weaved a bit, and then he stooped to retrieve the body of the little girl. Her flesh felt strange, vaguely leathery, but now he could see the shadows of her features, big eyes and a bow-shaped mouth. He could tell that in life she was a pretty little child. Was. Dean shook his head again, pursing his mouth. _People suck,_ he thought.

Sam had moved on without him, stumbling further down the tunnel at the far end of the small cavern. Dean followed on, one hand on the cold stone wall, the other clutching the girl against his chest. "Wait up, Sammy," he called, quickening his pace into a shuffling jog. The darkness around him was almost total, broken only by his own light and the far-off glow of Sam's.

Dean had never really been afraid of the dark. At times he felt afraid of what was _in _the dark, but for the most part he considered darkness an ally. In the dark he didn't have to compose his face into that studied mask of indifference. In the dark he could show what he felt. He could hide in the dark.

But then Sam's light disappeared. Dean heard nothing, saw nothing, but as soon as the light blinked out he knew that something was wrong. His stomach clenched. _Dammit, can't we ever just have a simple salt and burn, then go out for pizza? _

In seconds, Dean's light played across Sam. He was on his hands and knees, stagnant water soaking into his jeans, hair hanging over his eyes. "Sam!"

Sam looked up at Dean, face gray. His eyes were glassy and cheeks strangely sunken. "Somethin'…'s wrong…" he slurred.

"Jesus, what is it?" Dean laid the corpse down as gently as he could and dropped to his knees at Sam's side. He reached out and brushed his hand across Sam's shoulder. Sam lurched at the touch and turned whiter still, then opened his mouth and vomited up a stomach full of hot blood. He looked back up at his brother, chin dripping with gore, eyes glossing over with tears. "Talk to me, Sam," barked Dean, voice sharp with hidden terror.

"Not concussion…" moaned Sam, a bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth. "S'her…" He lifted a shaking finger and pointed behind Dean.

Dean whirled, eyes wide. Behind him there swayed the faint apparition of the girl. Her face was angry, hair stringy and wet, clinging to her cheeks. Her mouth hung agape and her eyes were wild with rage. Dean jammed his hand into his pocket for the lighter, never letting his eyes leave the spirit. But as he drew the lighter out, his fingers fumbled it and it splashed into the water with a hollow _plop_. Dean hissed a curse and started splashing through the icy water, fingers searching, heart racing.

"Fuck!" he screamed, as he heard Sam vomit again behind him. When he glanced over his shoulder he saw that his brother had fallen facedown in the water, and now lay there motionless.

And then Dean's light went out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to all who have reviewed so far...and sorry for the long update times...I got distracted by writing Sanctuary, but now that's done and I'm back on track. Please feed the beast and review...**

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The darkness was complete, so thick that Dean could almost taste it. He scrambled blindly backward, splashing in the ice-cold water until his arm brushed against Sam's body. Dean grabbed him and cradled him to his chest, lifting his face from the water. A split second of relief rolled over Dean when he heard Sam take a gasping, sputtering breath, and felt him clutch wildly at his hands.

But the relief was short lived.

Pain like a spear in his chest stole Dean's breath and he let out a groan, eyes tearing. The pain rolled outward, tearing at his guts, radiating out to his fingertips. He could taste blood boiling up in the back of his throat and he gave a gurgling cough. Out of the darkness there shimmered the specter of the girl, her eyes filled with angry tears. Her mouth was a tight line, lips quivering. She stared down at Dean, and she was all he could see in the blackness. He could feel the rage radiating off of her. "Stop!" gasped Dean, struggling to catch his breath. He could feel the hot blood spill down his chin as he spoke. "You have…to stop!"

The girl was practically on top of him now, staring down at him. A tear dropped from her cheek, disappearing into the darkness as it fell. _"Bad man."_ Her voice was whisper soft, thick with childish hurt. _"Bad man."_

"No!" Dean choked. "No, we're not bad…men…" Another twist of pain gouged at him and he groaned, a half-strangled sob. "We're trying to…take you home…" Sam rolled his head against Dean's chest, moaning with his own pain, hands grasping blindly for Dean.

"_Bad men lie." _Her lower lip jutted out and another tear teetered on her eyelashes. She narrowed her eyes and Dean's pain increased threefold. It felt as though his eyes had melted in their sockets and were running down his cheeks, but when he passed his hand over his face he realized that the sticky wetness was blood.

"I'm not lying, I swear!" Dean cried, slurring around a mouthful of blood. "We want to take you home…"

The little girl looked down at him. In her eyes there flared a spark of hope, though dimmed by wariness. _"You'll take me home?"_

Dean ground his teeth around a scream of pain. "I promise!" he yelped, clutching Sam tighter. Sam moaned in response.

"_Cross your heart?"_

"Hope to die! Please!" Dean felt himself fading to unconsciousness, pulled down by the undertow of pain. And then, in an instant, everything stopped. The pain, the roaring in his ears, everything. He gasped out a curse and spat a mouthful of blood into the darkness.

Sam stirred against his chest, weakly calling, "Dean?" Dean squeezed the back of Sam's neck with his hand but couldn't find the strength to reply.

"_Take me home." _The little girl stamped an ethereal foot.

"We will…just hold on…" Dean took a shaky breath and pushed Sam into a seated position. He looked up at the girl, at her pale face. "What's…your name, sweetheart?"

The little girl paused, face still suspicious. _"Anna."_

"We're going to take you home, Anna, but you're going to have to show us the way out of here. You know how to play follow the leader?"

"_Yes." _A little smile played at the corners of Anna's mouth. _"So I'll be the leader?"_

"You're the leader, that's right." Dean struggled to his knees. "Don't go too fast now, make sure we can keep up." He reached back into the dark and found Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, Anna is going to lead us out of here. Can you keep up?" Dean kept his voice light, despite the fact that his heart was battering away at his ribcage.

Sam's shaky voice replied out of the blackness. "Yeah…I think so."

"You go first," ordered Dean. "We're going to have to crawl. Follow Anna." As he said it he gave a little shake of his head. "This is a new one." He reached behind him, groping blindly until his hands found Anna's curled corpse in the water. He gathered it up, slinging it awkwardly across his back and shivering as the cold water traced an icy path down the nape of his neck.

And so they began to crawl blindly into the dark, feeling their way along, following the wavering form of the ghostly girl. Dean lost count of the number of times he bashed his head against the rock ceiling, or ran face first into Sam's rear end. His frustration was growing, coupled with a sickening sense of claustrophobia. For all he knew, Anna was leading them deeper underground, where there was no hope of escape. _Trusting a ghost, Dean, very stupid. _He could almost hear his dad's voice.

Every once in a while, Anna's voice would drift back, as though from far away, in little singsongs. _"We're following the leader, the leader, the leader…"_

"How you feeling, Sam?" Dean called into the dark. He was fighting the terror that there was something creeping up behind him, reaching out to snatch his ankles, and somehow he needed the sound of Sam's voice.

"Been better…" Sam's voice was woozy and weak. "Head hurts."

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"When we get out of here, I officially give you permission to say 'I told you so'." Sam's half-hearted laugh comforted Dean a little. They crawled on, knees aching, following the dim and fluttering light of Anna's ghost.

"_We're following the leader, wherever she may go…"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to those who have reviewed thusfar, and so sorry for the delay on the update. As always, the boys don't belong to me. I wish to heaven they did.**

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Most people don't understand real darkness. It's one thing to be walking down an unlit street, squinting in the light of the stars. It feels dark, looks dark, even dark enough to be scary, but the eye finds and gathers light from the moon, from the stars, from far off houses, and lets you find your way. It's another thing entirely to be deep underground where light can't go, where darkness has a thickness, a weight. It can steal your breath and twist your mind. If you let it, it can kill you.

Dean had lost track of the time. It seemed like he had been crawling forever, groping along blindly in the darkness, following the shimmering mirage of the dead girl. It seemed like all he could feel were the rocks digging into his knees and palms, and the monster crick that was seizing in his shoulder blade. A few times his heart stopped as he felt, rather than saw, a drop off, god-only-knew how deep, just ahead of him. But he could hear Sam's labored breathing in front of him, which comforted him in a strange way.

But then, once again, he ran face-first into his brother. "Dammit, Sam!" Dean snarled. "Warn a guy, will ya? I'm getting way too well acquainted with your ass."

"I see light." Sam's voice was weak, and he leaned backward, shifting his weight from his knees to his toes.

"Well hustle toward it then, dumbass, what are you waiting for?" Dean bumped his shoulder against the back of Sam's thigh, trying to urge him forward.

"Can't."

"Why the hell not?" Dean craned his neck, trying to find the light for himself.

"I can't fit through there, Dean. Too narrow." The weakness in Sam's voice suddenly sounded a lot more like fear.

"Move," ordered Dean, muscling his way past his brother. He dipped his head, peering up the long, tapering passage. "It's not that narrow, Sam. We can make it." He glanced back, barely able to make out the form of his brother in the dim glow of the far-off light. "I'll go first. Don't follow until I call you, just in case."

Dean angled his shoulders into the tunnel and pushed upward with his feet, squirming his way in. There was just enough room for him to be able to shimmy upward on his stomach, pulling with his arms and pushing with his toes. He scrambled forward, eyes on the light, heart battering away at his ribs. The walls pressed him tightly, grazing his shoulders on either side. When he lifted his head he could feel the ceiling of the tunnel grazing the top of his skull. Anna's body was forced down against his back by the stone. He swallowed down a little surge of panic, instead concentrating on his forward movement.

Inch by inch he moved forward until finally he was able to pull himself into the dim light, rolling out onto a soft bed of moss and dewy ferns. He inhaled with a loud gasp and suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath. The sky was lightening with the glow that comes just before dawn, and he was shocked to realize that they had spent most of the night's hours belowground, crawling blindly along after a spirit-girl. He panted for a second, trying to calm his nerves, then called down the tunnel to Sam. "I'm out Sammy! Come on up!" When he heard no answer, he popped his head back into the passage. "Sammy?"

"I don't think I can, Dean…" Sam's voice was shaky, wavering out of the dark. "I won't fit."

Anger flashed over Dean like a fire, and all the pent-up tension and fear he had been swallowing all night roared back up. There was no way in hell he was squeezing back down that damn spider-hole to drag Sam's ass up into the light, not after spending a whole night on his hands and knees with a dead girl on his back. "Dammit, if I could fit through there, then your gawky ass sure can! Now get your ass in gear and get out here, NOW!" For a long moment there was only silence, but then he heard Sam sigh deeply and start scrambling into the tunnel.

Dean peered into the dark, waiting a bit anxiously. Without his flashlight, he wasn't having much luck seeing anything. But after a few minutes of listening to Sam's grunting breaths, Dean finally saw his brother's white face fade into view. A fine coating of grime covered Sam's cheeks, and a blaze of bright blood was dripping from his chin. Dean reached out and grasped Sam's hands, drawing him out of the tunnel.

"Just like delivering a baby," muttered Dean as he pulled Sam free. Sam lay limp on the moss, eyes closed, just taking deep and gulping breaths. "Sorry to go all Drill Sergeant on you, man."

Without opening his eyes Sam replied softly, "You sounded like Dad."

"Bite your tongue," replied Dean, ducking his head to inspect Sam's wounds. He ran his fingers gently over the back of Sam's skull, wincing as he found a huge goose egg swelling on the crown. "Probably rocking a concussion there, sport." He swiped his hand across Sam's chin, wiping away the worst of the blood there. "You look like hell, by the way."

"You don't look so great yourself." Sam slowly eased himself into a seated position, looking with detached concern at all the blood on Dean's own face. But then he blanched as his mouth started to water wildly. "Think you're right 'bout the concussion though." He rolled to his knees and emptied his stomach onto the forest floor. "Damn," he gasped, running his forearm over his mouth.

"Tasted better the first time around, huh?"

"Sorry, Dean." Sam took a deep and shuddering breath, closing his eyes and leaning back onto his heels. "'Bout freaking out down there. Was stupid."

Dean pushed his lower lip out. "Yeah. But it's okay. You're allowed to freak out every once in a while." He raised one eyebrow. "But if you ever cause me to face plant into your ass again, you're a dead-man." Sam managed a rasping chuckle, and gave Dean a weak punch on the arm.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I told you so."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to all who have reviewed. This will be the last chapter of this piece. I hope you all enjoyed it. As always, the boys are not mine, I just like to play with them.**

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The brothers sat silent on the dew-soaked, mossy ground, chests still heaving with exertion. Sam, eyes closed, tipped slowly backward to lay prone. His face was pale with fatigue and blood loss, and seemed more so due to the crimson blood trails snaking down his cheeks.

"_Take me home."_

Sam sat up with a flail, eyes unfocused and a bit wild. Dean stilled him with a hand on his arm, and scanned the trees quickly. Finally he spotted Anna's wavering ghost, flickering in and out of sight, standing in the brush with arms crossed and a mournful pout.

"_You said you'd take me home."_

Dean pushed himself to his knees and held a hand out toward the spirit. "Come here, Anna," he said calmly, nudging Sam with his foot. "Get your lighter, Sam," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. When he looked back toward Anna, he jumped to see her standing directly in front of him, head cocked to the side, eyes wide and sad.

"_I want to go home."_

Dean reached out as though to touch her. "Listen to me, sweetheart. I want you to close your eyes and think about your mom and dad. Can you tell me about them?"

A small smile curled Anna's mouth. She closed her eyes, lashes fringing her pale cheeks. _"My mommy sings to me at night, and tells me stories about when she was a little girl…"_

Sam knelt over Anna's corpse, digging in his pockets until he found a small squeeze bottle of lighter fluid. He splashed it over the body, soaking it well. He then glanced up at Dean, but Dean had eyes only for the ghost of the little girl.

"_My daddy is building me a tree house, and says I can spend the night in it when I get older."_

"Can you see their faces? Can you imagine them?" There was a strange tightness, a thickness, in Dean's voice.

"_My mommy is the prettiest lady in the world. And my daddy is the handsomest man." _The smile on Anna's face was soft, sweet.

"Do you see their faces?" Dean asked again, and Anna nodded slowly. A large tear wobbled on her lashes, then fell, sparkling like a dewdrop, toward the moss. Without looking at Sam, Dean lifted his hand and clutched it into a fist. Sam flicked his lighter and touched it to the corpse, which caught fire with a muffled 'whoomph'.

"Look at their faces, sweetheart," whispered Dean. Another tear coursed down Anna's cheek, but her smile did not waver. A warm glow seemed to brighten her face, spreading down her neck to her arms and hands and fingers, until Sam and Dean could hardly stand to look at her, so bright was the light.

And then she was gone.

Sam blinked, trying to clear the spots that swam in his vision. The heat from the burning body licked at his face. "That was a new one," he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

Dean didn't answer, only nodded, still staring at the spot where the spirit had been. He gusted a sigh. "Let's get out of here," he said quietly. He glanced at the sky to determine where the sun was coming up. Remembering that they had parked at the south end of the reserve, he snagged Sam by the elbow and lifted him to his feet. Sam stepped sideways dizzily, so Dean leaned into him, supporting and guiding him southward through the trees.

But after a few steps he stopped, stooping to grab something off the forest floor and jam it into his pocket. Sam opened his mouth to ask, but Dean didn't meet his eye, only pressed on into the woods. It was a shockingly short walk back to the road, and only a short distance further until they spotted the Impala, parked just off into the trees. "The kid did a damn good job leading us out," murmured Dean.

Dean eased Sam to rest in the passenger seat and popped the trunk. He retrieved the tackle box that served as their first aid kit, and gently cleaned the blood from Sam's face with sterile water and gauze. A dull headache was throbbing behind Sam's eyes and all he wanted to do was fall asleep, but he knew that there was no way Dean would let him until he was sure that the concussion wasn't too serious. "Well," Sam muttered, "another one bites the dust."

Dean didn't reply, only chucked the tackle box into the back seat and flopped into the driver's seat. "Not yet." He reached into the backseat and retrieved Sam's laptop. "We need to find out who she is."

Sam opened his mouth to ask why, but the look on Dean's face stopped him. "Okay. We can do that." His fingers ticked quickly over the keys, searching the Internet for any reports of missing children from the area. He had the answer in minutes. "Anna Delaney, disappeared eight months ago from a playground near the main entrance of the reserve." He turned the laptop so Dean could see the picture included in the article. "No leads."

Dean's mouth tightened into a hard, white line. "Find the Delaney's address," he ordered, turning the ignition and breaking the silence of the morning with the Impala's throaty growl. The tires spit rocks as he floored the accelerator and fishtailed out onto the gravel road, speeding back toward town.

* * *

Sandy Delaney rolled her eyes as she heard the roar of an engine out in front of her house. _Damn kids with their muscle cars, up and down the street at all hours. _She clipped on an earring and stepped to the front door, shrugging into her coat. She opened the door, squinting in the morning sun, and stepped outside into the cool, late autumn air.

Then she stopped short.

Propped against the top step, was a small, mud-covered handmade doll.


End file.
